Stuck
by missdollyfox
Summary: Carla's fighting an inner battle with her feelings for her closest ally, but how will he react? Rated M for moderate bad language. Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing for Carla.


**Stuck**

Carla slapped the 'Snooze' button on the alarm clock, hard, with the palm of her hand. She did the same when it began beeping incessantly again five minutes later. Another ten minutes passed before she thumped her hand against the 'Off' switch with a groan. A sigh followed as she peeled back the silk sheets and scraped her tired body out of the bed. Carla yawned several times, pressing her hand against her weary head as the hangover which was now like second nature to her kicked in. She'd been prepared for this moment; it was a part of her morning routine. She popped two painkillers out of their blister packaging and swallowed them with the remainder of the glass of water that was sat on her bedside cabinet. Padding barefoot across her bedroom, through the living room and to the kitchen where she'd spent the majority of the evening, topping up her drink, she muttered to herself;

"Thank the Lord for coffee."

**I… can't get out of bed today  
>Or get you off my mind<br>I just can't seem to find a way  
>To leave the love behind<br>**

It wasn't the hangover that caused the biggest problem, Carla decided, as the kettle boiled. It was the way that life's events came flooding back to her when she woke up. The first few bleary seconds when she awoke were the best part of her day by far, she thought. That couple of moments where you're yet to remember what's been happening in your life.

'Whoever said that ignorance is bliss knew what they were on about," she thought aloud.

The click that signalled that the kettle had finished boiling snapped the normally fiery factory boss out of her reverie. Even the clicking sound from the kettle was too much for her aching head to handle and she crashed out of her trance with a thud. Carla drank almost half of the steaming cup of coffee in one gulp, ignoring the burning sensation on her tongue. The shot of caffeine worked wonders in helping to soothe her alcohol-induced headache.

She took a look around the flat as she perched on the sofa. The coffee table could barely be seen through the clutter of wine bottles that had gathered over the last few days. She noted a deep red mark on her cream coloured carpet. She racked her brains in an attempt to remember how the stain had got there but she had no recollection of spilling a drink. She placed her now empty cup amongst the wine bottles on the table. She placed her head in her hands, closed her eyes, and sighed.

**I ain't tripping**  
><strong>I'm just missing you<strong>  
><strong>You know what I'm saying<strong>  
><strong>You know what I mean<strong>

Carla had always loved a drink. Anyone who knew her could tell you as much. Red wine had been her favourite form of alcohol since she was a teenager. While her mates were throwing back beers and bottles of cheap alcopop, you could always find Carla perched on a bar stool with a wine glass in one hand, and more often than not, a bloke in the other. Her two vices in life were booze and blokes. Right from when she left school, that's the way it had always been. Carla Connor, the definition of a creature of habit. She knew of nothing else.

But when had her drinking become so bad? So out of control? For a woman who was in control of everything around her, this drinking habit genuinely frightened her. She hated the feeling that all control of her life was slipping through her fingers, just like her wine glass must have done last night to cause that dark stain on the carpet.

**You've kept me hanging from a string**  
><strong>While you make me cry<strong>  
><strong>I've tried to give you everything<strong>  
><strong>But you just give me lies<strong>

Her mobile phone bleeped, indicating that she had a text message. Carla couldn't even remember where she'd left her phone in her drunken stupor the night before. She found it behind a cushion on the opposite side of the sofa. She shook her head as she realised she'd no idea how it had ended up there. Reading the text, the events of the previous night started to come back to her.

'Sobered up yet?' The text said simply.

'Don't pretend you care.' Was her reply.

'I don't,' she received a response within the minute, 'I just want to tell you this while you're not off your head.' Carla rolled her eyes, despite the recipient of her texts not being able to see that.

'I'm all ears.' She waited for a stern message. Sure enough, it came.

'You've got a fucking cheek. I can handle your poor attempts at flirting in the street but to text me over and over then call me, declaring your love for me, on me and Lee's anniversary night! What goes through that thick head of yours? I've told you Carla, I'm only going to say it one more time. I am married to Leanne. I love her, not you. I will never leave my wife for you. Not now, not ever. Got it? Sort your life out Carla and leave me and my family out of it.'

"Well I wasn't expecting an essay." She shared her thoughts with the empty room.

**I ain't tripping**  
><strong>I'm just missing you<strong>  
><strong>You know what I'm saying<strong>  
><strong>You know what I mean<strong>

Thinking about it, Peter was probably well within his rights with what he said. Carla had vague flashbacks to a phone call she made to him after a few too many drinks last night. The words 'great couple', 'wedding' and even 'kids' popped into her head. Peter was right; what on earth was she thinking? The answer was she wasn't thinking at all.

Carla searched through the 'Sent' section of her messages to see what she'd said to Peter via text. There were 8 messages sent to his phone within just fifteen minutes, she counted. There was all sorts in them, from what seemed to be a love letter to a long text not too dissimilar to the one which Peter had just sent her. She cringed, appalled by her own drunken behaviour. That and the fact that her ordinarily perfect grammar and spelling was completely off.

**Every now and then when I'm all alone**  
><strong>I'd be wishing that you would call me on the telephone<strong>  
><strong>Say you want me back but you never do<strong>  
><strong>I feel like such a fool<br>There's nothing I can do  
>I'm such a fool for you <strong>

Carla knew it was wrong, possibly as low as you can get, trying to steal another woman's husband. She'd been cheated on before, she'd been hurt in the worst possible ways by men in the past, she knew how it had made her feel and the pain which it had caused. She couldn't help the way she felt about Peter. She had tried everything she could think of to stop herself from loving him. She'd thrown herself at other men while under the influence. She couldn't remember most of it but she knew that the men were absolutely worthless compared to Peter. Last night's plan was to get so slaughtered that she'd hopefully forget he even existed, but that quite clearly failed. She was besotted with Peter Barlow. If only it was as simple as saying that sentence.

The only man that had ever made her feel that head-over-feels, butterflies in the stomach kind of love was Liam Connor. The more she thought about the loves of her life, the more similarities she noticed between the two men. She wasn't usually one to reminisce but she found herself smiling for a second but it quickly faded. Why did she always want what she couldn't have?

"Story of my life, that." She mumbled to herself, attempting to formulate a reply to Peter's stern message.

'You're not exactly whiter than white yourself, Peter, get off your high horse. You've given off so many mixed signals that I don't know if I'm coming or going. If you don't love me then why do you care so much? And don't say you don't care because I don't believe you. You've been there for me when no one else has, you've picked me up when I've been at my lowest and you've helped me through. We understand each other, Peter. We've got that understanding that you and Leanne will never have. She will never be able to support you like I can and you know it. Why don't you just fuck off and leave me alone until you've worked out how you feel and stop messing me around, alright? I won't be your puppet on a string any more!'

Carla was surprised to realise that her hands were trembling as she sent the response to Peter. Her coldness towards him was more than fair, she thought, after the way he'd treated her. He'd pick her up and drop her like a stone whenever it suited him. She was way down his list of priorities and only bothered with her when he felt like it. Her anger was understandable Carla thought, justifying the harsh words. She knew deep down that she hadn't meant it, the last thing that she wanted was for him to leave her alone if she was honest but she was cowardly; she knew that it would hurt less if he just didn't bother at all.

She felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach as her phone bleeped again with Peter's reply. She took a deep breath opening the text, expecting and prepared for the worst.

'The Red Rec. Lunch time, 12 ish. We can talk.'

**I can't take it**  
><strong>What am I waiting for?<strong>  
><strong>I'm still breaking<strong>  
><strong>I miss you even more<strong>  
><strong>And I can't fake it<strong>  
><strong>The way I could before<strong>  
><strong>I hate you but I love you<strong>  
><strong>I can't stop thinking of you<strong>  
><strong>It's true, I'm stuck on you<strong>

Carla couldn't help but feel confused. They'd just rowed rather spectacularly and she'd said in no uncertain terms to leave her alone and yet he was arranging to meet her in less than two hours? It didn't make any sense. A whole army of questions marched about Carla's head, which didn't help to ease her hangover. What if he'd realised his feelings and wanted them to be together? Unlikely, she thought, but not impossible. What if he told her to leave Weatherfield as he didn't want to see her ever again? More plausible than the first option she decided, but not what she wanted.

'See you there.'

She sub-consciously replied. She hadn't even given it a second thought – she had to go. Even if it was bad news, she had to take that risk. If there was the tiniest glimmer of hope for the two of them, Carla would grab hold of it so hard despite the consequences.

**Now loves a broken record that's been  
>Skipping in my head<br>I keep singing yesterday  
>Why we have to play these games we play<strong>

Flicking through countless items of clothing in her ever-expanding wardrobe, Carla just couldn't decide what to wear. Was her aim to look so glamorous that Peter couldn't resist her? Well that was unlikely, considering the huge bags that had formed under her eyes. Should she look casual, as if she hadn't bothered making an effort? Well that wasn't going to convince him he'd make the wrong decision. Carla didn't know if they were meeting as friends or foes which made choosing an outfit all the more difficult somehow.

After much deliberation and several tops being strewn around the bedroom, Carla selected a black, polka dot, three-quarter length sleeved top with dark coloured jeans and her favourite boots with heels. She tamed her raven locks with a brush, deciding to leave her hair down and wavy. She'd settled on a smart-casual look, hence the smart top and casual jeans. Carla spent a good twenty minutes or so perfecting her look as she applied her make up in an attempt to cover the purplish rings that were present underneath her eyes. She went through her usual make-up routine, sticking to the particular order she had always used, until she was finished with how she looked.

She took a step back to take a good look at herself. She sighed as she noted so many things that she wished she could change about herself, personality-wise as well as physical things. She hated the odd wrinkle that she could see forming on her face, and didn't think much of the shape of her nose, but she loathed her terrible choice in men and her ability to make all the wrong decisions so much more.

After critically examining her appearance on every angle, Carla decided that it'd have to do. She completed her look by donning the gold cuff bangle that had become her fashion staple. Glancing at the clock she realised that she had taken much longer to get ready than anticipated and it was in fact almost time to leave the flat for the meeting with Peter. After one last cup of coffee (she figured it would be better to remain sober despite craving a drink to calm her nerves) she left the flat. She swore as she noticed she'd forgotten her pair of sunglasses that had become her best friend when dealing with hangovers.

"It's going to be one of them days." She sighed as the sun blinded her.

**I ain't tripping  
>I'm just missing you<br>You know what I'm saying  
>You know what I mean<br>Every now and then when I'm all alone  
>I'd be wishing that you would call me on the telephone<br>Say you want me back but you never do  
>I feel like such a fool <strong>

Carla had booked a taxi earlier, not wanting to look bad by being late. The cab pulled up dead on time and Carla sat scrunched up in the back as she couldn't get comfortable due to nerves. She caught her reflection in the driver's mirror and coaxed a wayward strand of hair behind her ears. Once on the Rec grounds, Carla climbed cautiously out of the cab. She paid the driver, tipping him for his punctuality and took a look around her to see if Peter had arrived yet. He hadn't.

'Typical bloke, always late,' she thought to herself. She stood awkwardly in the gravel car park, which wasn't all too pleasant in her heels, and waited for Peter. A couple of minutes later a car pulled up a few spaces away from her and without looking she knew it was him. Smoothing down her top she walked over to the car as a straight-faced Peter stepped out of it.

"Peter." She said frostily, a sort of greeting without saying hello.

"Carla." He responded in an equal tone.

An uncomfortable silence settled on the pair. Carla stood with her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans, suddenly finding the gravel underneath her interesting as she couldn't bear to look Peter in the eye. Peter opened his mouth to speak a couple of times but didn't quite know where to begin.

"Why did you bring me here?" Carla asked, breaking the earth-shattering quiet.

"We need to talk."

"Well I don't hear a lot of talking going on. And my feet are killing me standing on this bloody gravel. Shall we walk?"

Wordlessly Peter nodded, beginning to walk across the large, but surprisingly empty, field. Carla followed a step or two behind.

"This can't keep happening." He said, simply.

"What?"

"This, us."

"I thought you said there wasn't an us?" Carla felt a glimmer of hope flutter in her stomach. It was quickly demolished.

"There isn't an us, you're right. For once."

Peter stopped and turned to face Carla. She jumped a little.

"There has never been, and never will be an us. Why don't you understand that?" Peter raised his voice a little, leaning against a brick wall at the edge of the field. "I am with Leanne. I am married to her because I love her. I don't love you Carla and I don't want you. I have never wanted you. Why would I? You're a drunken mess half the time and the other half you're a tough bitch, you're not exactly the ideal woman are you?"

"Oh so you're fucking perfect are you?" Carla couldn't help losing her temper. A lifetime's worth of rage shot through her veins. "If you don't want me, why are we here?"

Peter moved position slightly, his hand still pressed against the rough bricks. You could almost see the cogs in his brain whirling round as he tried to answer, Carla thought to herself.

"I'm here to tell you to back off. I mean it, Carla. I've tried being mates with you but it just doesn't work so just stay away." With his free hand, he waggled a warning finger at her.

"Yeah, and you know why us being mates doesn't work don't you? Because you can't control how you feel about me." Carla shouted, taking a step closer to Peter.

"You want me just as much as I want you." Her face was dangerously close to Peter's as she spoke, almost in a whisper. "If not more."

**I can't take it  
>What am I waiting for?<br>I'm still breaking  
>I miss you even more<br>And I can't fake it  
>The way I could before<br>I hate you but I love you  
>I can't stop thinking of you<br>It's true, I'm stuck on you **

Peter and Carla were so close their faces were practically touching. The pair's eyes were locked together for what seemed like an eternity. Carla's heart was beating so hard she wouldn't be surprised if you could see it springing from her chest. Her breathing hitched, her head span, so much so she thought she would faint. Her eyes flitted between Peter's eyes and his lips as she considered moving in for a kiss.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Peter held Carla's hands in his own, spinning her round so she was the one against the wall and pinned her arms either side of her head. Her paused for a fraction of a second, gazing into those beautiful brown eyes of Carla's and then he kissed her. Months of pent up passion went into the kiss. Carla could feel lust coursing through her veins from her head to her feet. She felt dizzy with desire as the kiss intensified. Peter toyed playfully with her hair, loose strands falling between his fingers. His left hand moved to stroke her cheek; each touch so gentle it caused Carla to shiver involuntarily. Carla wrapped her arms around Peter, pulling him closer towards her, desperate for this moment to never end. 

But rather abruptly, it did.

**Every now and then when I'm all alone  
>I'd be wishing that you would call me on the telephone<br>Say you want me back but you never do  
>I feel like such a fool<br>There's nothing I can do  
>I'm such a fool for you <strong>

"I shouldn't have done that." Peter took a step back, his eyes refusing to meet Carla's.

Carla paused, catching her breath. She regained her composure: smoothing down her now-creased shirt, running a hand lazily through her hair.

"That wasn't the reaction I was hoping for." She responded with a hint of humour in her voice, a tone which didn't match the dejected look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Carla tilted her head a little, closely examining Peter's every move. He looked as if he was fighting an inner battle, one between head and heart. His eyes remained on the floor, he was shuffling positions awkwardly, his fingers were rubbing his forehead as if he was trying to smooth out the worry lines that had formed on his otherwise beautiful face. He was no oil painting, Carla continued her trail of thought, but to her he was beautiful. With those welcoming chocolate-brown eyes and his scruffy dark hair, the cynical smile that could melt her heart in seconds, the contrast of his tough nut exterior and his soft centre (not too dissimilar to herself), were what made him perfect in Carla's eyes.

"Actually, I'm not."

She was snapped out of her reverie by Peter speaking. She cleared her throat as she realised she had been staring at him throughout her daydreaming like a lovesick teenager. Well she was one of those things but it wasn't the teenager part.

"Sorry?" Was all Carla could say. She was confused, understandably so.

"I'm not sorry."

"Okay..." She began, still none the wiser. The feisty female was for once lost for words. Was she supposed to say that she was sorry and it would never happen again? Was she meant to walk away and pretend it had never happened? That was the most likely outcome. That was what always happened.

"I'm not sorry because you're right. I do want you."

"Well that's a first - a man admitting he's wrong." Carla said with a smile, her trademark humour still present. It took her a second to realise the enormity of what Peter had just said. The simple phrase 'I do want you' stuck in her head and replayed itself over and over.

"I'm serious, Carla. All that stuff about not wanting you, about being happy with Leanne," Carla bowed her head, a pang of guilt hit her at the mention of his wife and her friend. "...who was I kidding? You've said it all along."

"Call me Miss Marple." Carla mentally kicked herself; could she not get through one sentence without using humour, sarcasm or wit? She had a habit of doing so in serious situations. It was her way of dealing with important matters, whether it be work or home related. Peter continued as if she hadn't spoken.

"I do love Leanne...but I'm not in love with her. That ship sailed a while ago. There isn't that spark any more. How I feel about her...it's nothing compared to the way I feel about you."

Peter's eyes met Carla's for the first time since their kiss. Instead of the awkward look they usually shared after a rendezvous, the pair looked straight at each other as if they were communicating their feelings through their eyes. Carla could feel her stomach flip like it was on a spin cycle in a washing machine. The most bizarre feeling, but it felt so right.

Carla began walking away from the edge of the field in the direction of Peter's car. While he wasn't looking she couldn't help but smile, a happy smile.

"Where are you going?" Peter was puzzled. He hadn't expected to pour his heart out to the woman he finally realised he loved for her to walk away.

Carla turned, the remnants of that happy smile still on her face. Peter could see a little twinkle in her eye. It made her even more stunning, if that was possible. She held out her hand to him.

"Come home with me."

**I can't take it**  
><strong>What am I waiting for?<strong>  
><strong>I'm still breaking<strong>  
><strong>I miss you even more<strong>  
><strong>And I can't fake it<strong>  
><strong>The way I could before<strong>  
><strong>I hate you but I love you<strong>  
><strong>I can't stop thinking of you <strong>

**I hate you but I love you**

**I can't stop thinking of you  
>Don't know what to do <strong>

**I'm stuck on you**


End file.
